Well, here we are – the big rescue. Many thanks for Benji again, and Princess Faz for beta'ing. The "kick-ass" Faramir here appears to you courtesy of Athelas63 and Princess Faz, who started this whole story so we could have a "tender but tough" Faramir. Also thanks to Clarion and Raksha the Demon for encouraging tough Faramir ideas.
The Caves of Falou
Isilan hunkered down behind a thick clump of grass and watched the proceedings in the Haradrim camp below him. He was too far away to see details, but it was becoming evident that nearly half of their number was leaving, including the girl, who appeared to be crying and resisting a large, well-dressed officer, perhaps the father she had spoken about.
The dark-haired Ranger pressed his belly against the sandy ground and stayed motionless, avoiding any movement that might reveal him to the foreign soldiers. He scanned the area around him as he waited for the rest of his company to catch up.
When Shushuah had left the Rangers the previous night, Anduron and Faramir had waited only until darkness fell before the entire company followed her tracks into the desert, their way brightly illuminated by the moonlight. They had found the place where she had met two other riders, and seen that her belief her father would send out searchers had been correct. Soon after, they had come upon the path of the entire Haradrim party, and had followed that until the sleeping camp had come into sight.
There had been some consideration of attacking then, however it was nearly dawn, and Anduron had counseled patience. Faramir's opposition had been quite evident, but his captain's experience far outweighed his and after a quiet but forceful discussion he had reluctantly agreed. Anduron had assured him that they would follow the Haradrim hard and fast across the desert that day and attack as soon as possible.
"We are outnumbered, my lord." Anduron had said, trying to make Faramir see the sense of waiting. "We gain nothing by forcing our hand too soon."
"I gain nothing by letting my brother die before I get there." Faramir shot back, his eyes flashing.
Anduron had decided to let it drop and simply walked away, knowing all his reasons would not outweigh Faramir's concern for Boromir's life.
As the sun had risen the Haradrim were up and packed in a matter of minutes. Anduron was on guard duty and saw what appeared to be an injured man dragged forward and placed upon a desert pony. He said nothing to Faramir, seated behind a clump of bushes nearby with the other Rangers. There was no point, the captain thought, to have the younger brother see the older from this distance when he was unable to help him. It might even encourage him to do something foolhardy. Anduron waited until the entire party was mounted and trotting away before he called the Rangers to their feet and the pursuit began.
The fastest among the group was Isilan, and he had instantly volunteered to be the one who took the lead and made it his duty to never lose sight of the enemy. He had managed to stay with them almost the entire morning, never more than a mile behind, and only once loosing sight of them entirely on the plains. Now they had stopped before a rocky, jagged bluff and appeared to be preparing to stay. Desert ponies were unloaded and corralled in a nearby gully while the Haradrim soldiers themselves carried supplies and other bundles into the large mouth of a cave visible at the foot of the cliff.
Isilan took a sip of his water and wiped his face, glad they had stopped. It would give him a chance to rest and the others an opportunity to catch up. He glanced up at the sun, a little past noon, and settled back into a more comfortable position, keeping his eyes on the activities of the camp now being set up in the cave.
The girl was now on her horse, the officer leading it away and the others were following behind. By his earlier calculation, there had been nearly forty in the camp. Swiftly he tried to count departing horses. At least eighteen, although not all of them had riders. He strained his eyes to see if one of those riders could be the young Captain of Gondor, but it was too far to discern figures, let alone faces. His clue as to the girl's presence had initially been seeing her grey horse. While some of the figures now riding away were obviously too small to be Boromir not all could be so easily dismissed. He watched, chewing a fingernail thoughtfully. Should he follow them, or stay with the group in the cavern? Did the girl leaving mean anything? She was obviously upset. A sudden thought left him cold – perhaps the captive had died and there was no reason for her to stay. He was torn, but finally decided to wait, reasoning the rest of his company could not be far behind.
In less than an hour Faramir appeared noiselessly beside him. "Well?" His eyes were locked on the camp under the cliff as Isilan made his report but his gaze snapped to the scout's face when Isilan told of the smaller group's departure.
"How many?"
"Eighteen horses, my lord. Not that many riders, perhaps twelve or fifteen."
"The girl, too?" Faramir felt worry creep across him.
"Yes, sir." Isilan said, seeing the effect of his information on his lieutenant's face. "I tried to see if one of the others could be your brother, but I could not tell from here. It did appear that the girl did not want to go, another man was forcing her." He hesitated. "If you want, my lord, I can follow them."
Faramir looked at the soldier, taking in the drawn look and the dark circles under the eyes, knew he had pressed himself hard to keep up with the Southrons. "No, Isilan, you have done enough." He rolled over onto his back and thought for a moment. "Go and give your information to Captain Anduron, he is back about half a mile. I will stay here until you – or someone else – comes to relieve me."
"Yes sir." Isilan scooted backwards from the grassy clump for a ways before scuttling away. Faramir rolled back on his belly and peered through the grass, trying not to worry. Why would some of them leave? What about the girl? He determinedly forced the thoughts to the back of his mind. If they did not find Boromir here, then he would have to push on and follow the other Haradrim. He suspected Anduron would not be willing to go deeper into Harad, but Faramir decided he would face that problem when the time came. No use worrying about that now, he told himself. For now he would just keep his eyes on the movement in the camp.
The afternoon wore on and Faramir could see the Haradrim going about the business of daily camp life. Feeding the horses, cleaning weapons, cooking a meal. They wandered in and out of the mouth of the cave without concern. Faramir did not even see a guard posted. Perhaps they thought they were so far in their home territory they had no need. He smiled grimly to himself, thinking he would be more than happy to prove them wrong. It was dusk when Anduron came creeping through the sand to join him.
"I let the men have a rest and a bite to eat," he said by way of explanation as to his late arrival. "Here." He handed Faramir a piece of dried meat and stared down at the cave, now barely visible in the fading light. As he chewed, Faramir told him of the afternoon's happenings.
"Not even a guard?" Anduron grinned slightly. "That would certainly be nice for us."
Faramir nodded. He hesitated before continuing. "You heard what Isilan said?"
"That some of them left, including the girl? Yes." Anduron was sure Faramir was already turning over an alternative plan in his head, in case they did not find Boromir here. "I cannot worry about that until I have to, my lord. Let's see what we find here, all right?" Faramir nodded reluctantly.
Anduron looked at his lieutenant for a long moment and Faramir could see him weighing something in his mind. At last his captain spoke.
"Faramir, you were right about the girl. She apparently did not tell them about us." The older man looked down at the complacent camp. "I'm glad you were right. I did not trust her to keep silent."
Faramir said nothing, only shrugged and kept his eyes on the dark soldiers moving about the mouth of the cave. "I cannot explain it, I just saw it in her eyes," he said finally. He looked back at his captain. "Sometimes I just know…" He shrugged again, as though in apology.
Anduron thought of the tales he had heard of the Steward and his ability to shrewdly read men's hearts, and he eyed the young man beside him thoughtfully.
"Well, the rest of the company is just beyond that tree," he said, pointing behind them. He looked up at the sky; it was going to be another bright, moonlit night. He shot a look toward the Haradrim camp. "Let's give them a few hours to get good and asleep, then we'll move in."
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Jekarr yawned and scratched his head absently. It was nice to have a few days in the same place, not always be packing up each and every morning and setting off somewhere. He gave a self-conscious grunt of laughter. It was nice to not have General Dhan breathing down his neck every minute of the day! The man was bad for morale, the way he was always stalking around checking on everything, insisting on strict military protocol, barking orders and in general acting as though they could expect an enemy attack at any moment. Every man in the troop had breathed a sigh of relief when he left, Jekarr most of all. This was his troop, or had been until Dhan caught up with them on the way to Dalania and shown Jekarr his orders allowing him to travel with them. Since then, Jekarr had felt like he was a new private, not the leader of his own troop. Now things could get back to normal.
He was sorry to see the girl go, however. She was a pretty thing and having a woman to keep the men's thoughts occupied always made for a more pleasant trip. For them, at least, he thought with a leering grin. She had not seemed to appreciate the attention of many of his soldiers. Thinking of Shushuah made him remember her request and he frowned. General Dhan had been very clear. "Let him die, Jekarr," he had said, his black eyes glittering. "No water, no food, nothing. I don't want him somehow surviving this and showing up in Dalania when you arrive."
Personally, Jekarr thought the chances of the Gondorian surviving and making it to Dalania were negligible, but he had agreed, had even offered to kill him.
"No," Dhan's voice had been adamant. "I promised her I would not kill him. But I told her he would die and he will."
Jekarr had seen the general's point and felt little remorse. It would certainly not be the first time an enemy had died at his hand, in whatever manner. But then as she had been taken away, Shushuah had made her tearful request. That he not die alone. That was all she had asked. Jekarr thought he understood; it was because of the plague.
He knew he would never forget the silent, deserted city that had met his troops when they had returned from maneuvers to the north last year. Over two-thirds of the people had died in less than a month. The bodies were piled in the streets and the stench was unbearable. Cruelest of all to those who survived was the fact that the sickness touched them not at all. They were merely left to nurse the sick and bury the dead, never knowing what made them immune. Jekarr had not known General Dhan then, or Shushuah, but as they had traveled these last few weeks together, she had often spoken of those days when she and her father had watched the rest of her family perish. The great general had been unable to find the strength to face the loss of his wife and sons and had locked himself in his study, leaving his daughter to tend them as they grew weaker and weaker and then died.
She had spoken of it several times to Jekarr and her greatest regret was that the older brother and the mother had been unaware of her presence at their passing. "They died alone, Jekarr," she would whisper, her eyes blank as she remembered. "I was right there, but they died alone."
Jekarr shifted beside the fire and considered her appeal. She had merely asked him to be near when the Gondorian finally breathed his last and that was easily arranged. Regardless of the general's wishes, Jekarr had no problem with slitting the captive's throat and getting it over with. He had unfinished business with the Gondorian at any rate. The memory of the challenge in those green eyes that first day still rankled. He got to his feet and made his way down the dark passageway cut into the stone.
The dim glow of a single torch was barely enough light for him to find his way to the storage room where his soldiers had dumped the unconscious prisoner. Jekarr peered down, slightly disappointed to find him still breathing. Then he sighed in disgust. He knew Shushuah would ask him when he returned to Dalania and he did not want to have to face her with an unsatisfactory answer. She was a smart girl and would question him if she suspected anything. Her suspicions would raise her father's, of course. Not to mention if Al-jur Dhan did come back for the body there would be a problem. He would not care that the man had died but finding Jekarr had disobeyed his specific orders would be certain to anger the temperamental general.
Jekarr rubbed the back of his hand across his nose and considered the prisoner. Better to let him die on his own, if he would just get on with it. He was a big man, and the Haradrim remembered his strength from the day of his capture. Even with the arrow wound and a sharp blow to the head he had been hard to control. No doubt that physical strength would keep him alive much longer than Jekarr would prefer. Still - he leaned down and touched the pale face - the fever and the infection would take him eventually. He just had to be patient. Another day or two and the fever would do its work. He withdrew his hand and the prisoner murmured slightly before falling silent again.
"Commander!" A voice called from the passageway. "Altahn has found a store of wine jugs!"
With a grin Jekarr turned away from the unconscious man and left the storage room, taking the torch with him. He would check again in a day or so.
In the dark aching fog that had become his world in the last few days, Boromir held fast to the words he had heard faintly spoken. "He is coming, he is coming for you." He could do no more than drift through the pain-filled blackness and wait for the promised savior.
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Faramir had been correct; no guard was posted by the Haradrim. They felt safe so far inside their own borders, and each man was sleeping peacefully, somewhat due to his share of the pilfered wine, when the Rangers of Ithilien moved silently toward the mouth of the cave. With their advantage, the best archers of Gondor were able to quickly dispatch seven of their enemy before the Haradrim knew they were under attack.
Even after the Southron soldiers realized their situation, the speed and surprise of the assault left them on the defensive, desperately fighting against grim men determined to overwhelm and defeat them quickly, and after the first few moments of silent killing had passed, the Rangers drew their swords and began to battle in earnest against those Haradrim who were now awake and fighting for their lives.
It was dim in the cave and the flickering light of the fire made it difficult to determine whether the shapes moving about were flesh and blood or merely shadows. The struggle between nearly three dozen men in an enclosed cavern meant close-quarter fighting, and in a short time Faramir found himself backed into a corner by a large Haradrim with broken teeth. He slashed furiously at the leering face, even as he felt the bite of the Southron's sword in his own arm. Years of training had honed his reflexes to the second and with an abrupt move he had practiced at least a thousand times he suddenly drove the sword up and across the other man's throat, nearly decapitating him. The blood fountained across Faramir's face, blinding him for a moment. He heard Anduron shouting from nearby.
"Faramir! To your left!" Without trying to see the threat Faramir whirled and stabbed with the sword, feeling it meet solid flesh. Dragging his arm across his eyes to regain his vision, Faramir saw a dark face looking with shock and dismay at the blade buried in his chest. The man took a step back and Faramir could feel his weight slide from the sword as he did so. Quickly he pulled his sword back for another strike but the Haradrim only took one step forward before Anduron's blood-covered sword slashed across his side and he pitched onto his face, blood covering the ground beneath him. The captain gave his lieutenant a self-conscious grin of pride.
The noise in the cavern added to the confusion, the screams and shouts echoing off the stony walls and the sharp clanging of metal blades as they crashed together. Faramir heard a voice across the cave crying "For Gondor!" and he followed it, finding a pair of tall Southrons bearing down on one of the Rangers. The young lieutenant leaped across the hard floor of the cave to intercept them, his own sword catching one of the men of Harad's as it descended, blocking the blow and diverting their attention to him. With a curse in Haradrim, both men turned, intent on killing him as quickly as possible, their black eyes bright with bloodlust.
With a swift glance over his shoulder to see if the man he had assisted was unhurt, Faramir tightened his grip on his sword and waded into battle as his mind neatly stepped back, coldly calculating how best to dispatch the two enemies before him. Using moves drilled into him from childhood he thrust and slashed at the Haradrim, easily disemboweling one with a strong downward stroke. The other hesitated as his companion fell to the ground screaming, his intestines slithering into the sand. Then setting his jaw he raised his sword and attacked the soldier of Gondor, his face contorted with anger.
Faramir was instantly on the defensive, this man was nearly a head taller than he was, and his arms were thick with muscles. He slashed at Faramir with his huge sword, its curved edge missing the fair-haired soldier by mere inches several times. Reluctantly Faramir took a step back, then another, suddenly feeling the weight of his own sword and the way his lungs were screaming for a deep breath. Feeling stone against his back, Faramir realized he could go no further, he had been pushed to the wall of the cave. The Haradrim grinned in triumph and raised his sword, the firelight glinting on the polished metal.
Faramir was suddenly furious. He had to find his brother; he had come for Boromir, he did not have any more time. With a scream of defiance and rage Faramir raised his own sword and sprang forward, catching the taller man off guard. He took a step back and Faramir drove his blade into the Southron, feeling the metal slide past the breastbone as he pushed it into the man's heart. The black eyes opened wide and he made a wild swing at Faramir as he fell forward, crushing the man of Gondor beneath him.
The crack of his skull hitting the stone floor brought flashes of light into Faramir's head and he lay beneath the dead man for a moment feeling sick. After a few minutes, however, he felt the body being pulled from on top of him and saw the Ranger he had saved earlier peering down at him. "Lieutenant?" The man's face was white.
"I'm all right, help me up."
Faramir raised his hand and the Ranger pulled him to his feet. Faramir felt the floor sway drunkenly, but
waited a moment and it righted itself.
Dimly he realized the sound of combat was dying off, the crashing of
swords diminishing, and he knew the fight was nearly finished. He took a step and stumbled and instantly the
Ranger beside him grasped his arm.
"Sit down, sir, you're bleeding."
"It's not mine," said Faramir even as he followed the other man's advice and lowered himself to the stony ground. He reached behind him and felt the tender spot on his head where it had made contact with the floor. It was already swelling and he could feel the stickiness of blood in his hair and trickling down his neck.
"Some of it is, Lieutenant." He looked up to see Anduron standing above him grinning. "By my count you killed three; you cannot have gotten nothing more than a bump on the head."
"And a cut on the arm," said the other man, still hovering anxiously nearby. He pulled Faramir's sword from the body of the Haradrim and wiped the blood on the dead man's robe before handing it to his young officer.
"And a cut on the arm," amended Anduron, his grin widening. "We seem to have done quite well. They are all dead and none of us are. Besides you, we only have two other wounded, both minor. I would call that a success."
"That's not why I came," Faramir gritted his teeth and attempted to stand up, closing his eyes for a moment as he felt the earth tilt again. "Now we have to find Boromir."
Anduron's grin disappeared and he eased Faramir back down to the ground. "I've already got the men looking through the tunnels. Sit here a minute and let me see how much of this blood is really yours."
In a few moments the captain found most of the gore covering Faramir was indeed that of the dead man beside him and the one he had almost beheaded earlier. He tore of a few strips of fabric from the Haradrim's robes and wrapped them tightly around the slash on Faramir's arm, then examined the back of his head, noting that he expected the headache to get much worse based on the size of the lump. Faramir only sat with his eyes closed and grunted.
As the minutes passed and one Ranger after another reported no success in his search, Faramir began to have doubts. "He's not here," he said quietly, his voice edged with despair. "They took him with them, or," he paused, barely able to make himself speak the thought, "she lied."
Anduron tied a bandage around his lieutenant's head as tightly as he could, wincing in sympathy when he saw Faramir flinch. "Don't say that, my lord. This place is a maze, give them time to look through it all."
Faramir shook his head slightly, feeling the nausea of both the pain in his head and shattered hope steal over him. "I have to find him, Anduron, I have to."
"I know, Faramir," Anduron's voice was quiet, meant for the ears of his young lord alone. "We will –"
"My lord!" Isilan's voice echoed down the stony corridor. "We have found him."
Faramir was instantly on his feet, Anduron close behind with a steadying hand on his shoulder. Each taking a torch from the wall, they followed the Ranger's call, the air growing colder as they moved further and further back into the bowels of the mountain. Down one of the myriad channels cut into the rock they came upon a smaller cavern, barely more than a wide place hacked out of the sandstone. Piles of goods lay scattered about, clothing, weapons, and cooking utensils, as though it had been used as some sort of storage area. A dead Haradrim lay across their path, the dark face masked by blood. Faramir merely stepped across him without comment; his eyes locked onto the form of a man sprawled on the cold gritty floor before him. For a moment, he froze, sudden fear taking him. Was he dead? He felt his heart clench with panic, then release suddenly when he saw Isilan cut the ropes that bound the man's hands behind him and call his name softly.
In a moment he was kneeling in the sand, handing Anduron his torch as he gently brushed the tangled blond hair back from the bruised face. "Boromir," he said urgently. His eyes quickly flicked over his brother's body, noting the inflamed gash across his ribs, the numerous cuts and scratches. He was clothed only in his breeches and his battered limbs shivered in the chill air. "I am here, brother." He gathered him into his arms, holding him close against his chest, tears filling his eyes when his embrace caused Boromir to shudder and cry out in pain. "Boromir," he said, "wake up."
Boromir's eyelids fluttered and his lips moved soundlessly, forming his brother's name. Faramir cradled his head in his arms, running his fingers along Boromir's sunburned face, feeling fever scald him wherever he touched flesh. He winced when his fingers reached hair matted with blood, and the leaking gash along the scalp. He withdrew his hand to find the palm covered in blood.
"My lord," Anduron spoke quietly, directing his attention to the blood-laced yellow pus seeping through the rent in Boromir's breeches. "It is as the girl said. This wound is infected. That is causing the fever, no doubt."
Carefully Faramir lowered his brother's body to the ground, biting his lip at Boromir's quiet groans. He took his knife and cut through the cloth, stiffened with dried blood and discharge. Pulling the fabric apart as the younger man worked the knife, Anduron exposed the left hip, swollen, mottled with black bruises and angry red streaks. Boromir jerked and moaned, the sound stabbing his brother's heart and Faramir laid a consoling hand on his head as Anduron's fingers gently probed. Buried in the center of the inflamed tissue was the entry wound, a hole with ragged edges, torn into the skin and muscle, dripping blood and poison. His lips pressed together, Anduron examined the jagged fissure, moving as gently as possible. Boromir cried out weakly at his touch. "Probably the arrowhead is still in there, just as she guessed," said Anduron, his face grave.
Faramir leaned over the semi-conscious form once more and stroked his brother's face tenderly, his fingers brushing across the scratched, discolored skin. "Boromir," he whispered. "I am here." The sight of his strong, older brother lying broken on the floor of the cave made his stomach turn, but he swallowed and drew a ragged breath and spoke his name again. "Boromir."
Boromir moaned and his eyes slid open slightly, dull with pain and fever. He looked at his brother without recognition for a long moment. At last Faramir saw something appear there, a glint of awareness. "Far'mir?" His voice was a mere whisper, faint, weak, shaky with illness.
"Yes, I'm here," said Faramir reassuringly. He wanted his voice to be strong, to give no hint of his worry and concern. "Wake up," he said once more in as normal a tone as he could muster. Taking his brother's hands, he gently chafed the swollen fingers, trying to restore circulation.
Boromir's face beneath the scabs and bruises strained as he made every effort to pull himself back into the world of consciousness, but it was too much effort for his small bit of remaining strength. His green eyes went glassy and lost their focus on Faramir before drifting closed again almost immediately.
"Boromir?" Faramir released Boromir's hands and reached down to touch his face.
Anduron tried to restrain him. "Let him sleep, at least for now."
"It's not sleep," Faramir said brokenly, gathering his
brother into his arms again.
"No," agreed Anduron, "but it is time away from hurting. Let him have that." He laid a comforting hand on Faramir's shoulder.
Near the front of the caves they could hear the rest of the Rangers as they searched the other corridors for remaining enemies and dragged out dead Haradrim.
"My lord." The younger man raised his eyes to his captain and Anduron gave his lieutenant a searching look. "We cannot stay here long. They could be coming back with reinforcements." His eyes dropped to the injured man, then met Faramir's again. "Do we risk cutting out the arrowhead now?" His face showed his own reluctance to that idea. While most Rangers had some experience with removing arrowheads, cutting into a sick man in enemy territory was not something Anduron gladly anticipated. "Or should we go as soon as possible? There is danger either way," he said to his lieutenant.
Faramir ran through his options in his mind. Staying was out of the question. As Anduron said, the Haradrim could return at any moment, in greater numbers. They must move quickly. But that meant either cutting out the arrowhead here, sure to be an unpleasant and dangerous operation, or taking Boromir with them on the long painful journey to Gondor with the thing still in him.
He laid his hand across Boromir's forehead, smoothing back the snarled hair, feeling the heat rising from him, and realized he had no choice. They had to get out of Harad as soon as possible. This was the fourth day they had been across the Poros River. Each day they were in enemy territory increased their chances of discovery. Every step north was a step towards home and safety. "We should go…" he said, his voice unsteady.
"I sent Nevan to gather up the horses," said Anduron quietly. "We all have riding experience. We can move twice as fast."
Faramir started shaking his head even as Anduron was still speaking. "No, no. I cannot do that to him. Didn't you hear what the girl said? He's been tortured enough on a horse."
Anduron squatted into the dust and laid a calloused hand on Boromir's cheek. He was aflame with fever. The Ranger captain looked at his lieutenant, face spattered with an enemy's blood, his own blood staining the bandage around his head. Sitting there in the guttering torchlight, his brother clutched to him, Faramir had let his guard down and suddenly looked just what he was, young, worried and exhausted. Anduron reached over and clasped the tense shoulder in a reassuring grip.
"Faramir, listen to me. You must think of what will be best in the end." Anduron's hand moved from Boromir's cheek to rest gently on the head of the unconscious man. "He must have a healer; there is little we can do, even if we get the arrowhead out of him. For that we must get him home, in the next day or so, or it will be too late."
Faramir closed his eyes and sighed, feeling the throbbing in his head, wishing he were either older and knew the right thing to do, or younger and relieved of the need to make the decision. At last he nodded and hoped he was making the right choice. "All right."
Anduron left them for a moment and went to gather the rest of the company. In a matter of minutes he had given each man his orders and they were preparing to move out. When he returned to the back cavern he could hear Faramir speaking softly as he approached. "…you were here. So we came for you." Anduron could see the younger brother gently brushing back Boromir's blond hair and stroking his flushed cheek but saw no response from the elder. He cleared his throat to announce his presence.
Faramir looked up, startled. "Are we ready?" he asked quietly, once more the able lieutenant.
"The horses are saddled and at the front of the cave." Anduron made himself sound as though he were making a routine announcement rather than the commencement of a dangerous and tortuous journey. He held out his own cloak and Faramir's, retrieved from the front of the cave. "We can wrap him in these."
Faramir nodded and gestured with his head. "Help me." Together they wrapped Boromir in the soft woolen material, covering his shivering body. Then Faramir slid his hands under Boromir's arms and let Anduron take his legs. They carried the limp form down the rocky passage and to the front of the cave. The Rangers gathered there were shocked into silence at his appearance. Anduron gave them a hard glare and each immediately returned to what they had been doing as he and Faramir gently lowered their burden to the ground. Boromir whimpered slightly but remained motionless.
The dead Haradrim had been gathered into a large pile in the center of the cave. Now as the Rangers prepared to leave, Faramir stood staring thoughtfully at the heap. Suddenly he pulled out his knife and carefully cut the tree of Gondor motif from the leatherwork of his scabbard. Searching through the debris in the cave, he found a Southron spear and viciously jabbed it into the ground before the pile of bodies. He pierced a hole in the leather scrap with the end of his knife, then threaded a strip of cloth through it and tied it onto the end of the spear that jutted up before the faces of the dead.
"When they find them, I want them to know Gondor was here," he said, his voice quiet but with a bite. "This is the end of those who would harm the Steward's son."
With that he turned and mounted his horse. The desert pony pranced and circled but Faramir was an accomplished rider and within seconds had him under control. "Give him to me," he said to Anduron, reaching down for Boromir. The captain hesitated.
"My lord, he will be a dead weight, and you yourself are wounded."
Faramir said nothing, just fixed his blue eyes, icy now, on Anduron and waited. The captain felt a shiver down his spine as he suddenly found himself looking into the eyes of not his twenty-year-old lieutenant but somehow the steely ones of the Steward of Gondor. With a slight bow he motioned for another soldier to assist him and they lifted up Boromir's limp form so that Faramir could settle him on the horse.
An agonized gasp escaped the wounded man when he was placed on a saddle once again, and Anduron saw Faramir's jaw clench. He leaned forward and twined his brother's fingers into the horse's coarse mane. "Hold on," he said softly. Reaching around him he took the reins in one hand and hugged Boromir close with the other, pulling him slightly sideways so that the lolling head rested on his shoulder. He gazed down at Anduron with determination in his eyes.
"I plan to ride as though the entire Army of Harad is behind me."
Anduron swung up onto his horse. "I will be right beside you, my lord."
The Rangers of Ithilien cantered off into the moonlit night, taking the Steward's heir with them and leaving behind a pile of Haradrim bodies.
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TO BE CONTINUED